


Blue Heaven

by ndnickerson



Series: Red Label [8]
Category: Nancy Drew - Keene
Genre: F/M, Marriage, Resolved Sexual Tension, Wedding Night
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-19
Updated: 2009-12-19
Packaged: 2017-10-04 15:40:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/31832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ndnickerson/pseuds/ndnickerson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nancy and Ned take their relationship to the next level.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blue Heaven

**Author's Note:**

> Set soon after Lucrete.

"Nancy."

She could swear that she felt his breath still lingering on her skin. She hadn't seen him in three days but when her eyelashes fluttered once, twice, her hand, her fingers twitching slow against the pillow, for a fleeting instant she saw his face above her, in the bright haze of sunlight, retreating from the press of a feather-light kiss.

A mower was running outside.

She stretched and slipped through the house, the soles of her bare feet sliding on the hardwood. Beyond the windows the day was pale and perfect. Over the morning glass of juice she saw the cardboard box, kicked just inside her front door.

The trace of his breath lingering on her skin.

She sank with easy grace to the floor, her legs crossed in front of her, folded back the flap and saw the framed picture of the four of them. She had been fifteen minutes late for that photo session, her hair hadn't obeyed any styling product, and the long sleeves hid a bandaged and healing bullet graze from the camera's eye. Ned in a muted tie with his father's arm around his shoulders, Edith's hand resting on Nancy's, wide smiles and soft eyes. She traced her finger along the edge of the frame. Ned's first baby blanket, mended a hundred times by his mother's fingers; his worn and faded high school baseball glove, a long woolen orange and purple Emerson scarf. A handful of notes, brittle with age, her own handwriting still barely legible when she turned the paper into the light and tilted her head, her blue eyes narrowed. Yearbooks and a half-full pack of cigarettes, crushed and stale. A starter pistol. A napkin, River Heights Country Club embossed in gold, the pink smudge of her lip gloss in a perfect outline underneath, from the summer he had dared her, dared her, and she had given in, plunged into the pool still in her linen shorts and sneakers while the night watchman called his warning. He'd backed her against the passenger door of her Mustang and kissed her hard, after, their laughter turned breathless, until her hair was curling damp at the ends and her curfew was long forgotten.

His home.

A square of starched white cotton. One of his mother's lace handkerchiefs, embroidered with her initials in looping elegant script. "Something old?" Ned had shrugged, and she had smiled, the flush of their engagement still bright in her eyes. She touched the diamond on her finger. She had thought it lost but it was here, he saved it.

She slipped everything back into the box, one by one, the way she had found it. The picture, the last, she took back with her, back to her bedroom, putting it on her bedside table before she shut herself into the bathroom to wash her face and brush her teeth.

\--

She stood shading her eyes on her back porch. His chest was bare and his face was shaded under a ballcap as he shoved the sputtering mower at another patch of grass. Mollie didn't like the noise and was in the shade watching, and Nancy was startled by the sudden nudge of a cool wet nose, the sleek head nuzzling her palm. She stroked Mollie's ears and the two of them watched silently until he sensed their gazes and looked back over his shoulder.

"You could have woke me."

He laced his fingers between hers and his skin was hot and damp, rough with bits of broken grass.

"I could have. But you looked happy."

"Only because I was dreaming about you. I haven't seen you in ages."

He laughed softly. "Three days," he said. But his eyes were wistful, and his kiss was warm. She slipped her arms around his waist to linger at his hips before they broke, gasping for breath.

"How long are you staying?"

"As long as you want me."

She smiled at the sound of the words, the echo of the same ones she had said to him. "I'm going to the store, so I can actually make you something good for dinner. Without you around to cook for, I've been eating over the sink."

"Can't argue with that."

"Be here when I get back?"

His face softened still further and he cupped her cheek in his palm, leaning down to brush his lips over hers again. "Of course."

\--

The box had moved into the closet she designated as his by the time she came back in, her arms full of groceries. Hurriedly she put them all away, with Mollie bounding excited at her feet. She found his shoes, flecked with green, near her bathroom, and when she opened the door he was just pushing the curtain back, about to step into the shower.

"Sorry."

The bathroom was flooded with pure pale yellow light and once they were both under the water she traced her fingertips over him, his skin flushed with heat and exertion. She brushed off the bits of broken grass and washed the sweat away and by the time he pinned her against the wall of the shower, her legs wrapped around his waist, his forehead resting against the crown of her head, the water had turned blessedly cool as it spilled over his shoulders, trickling over their joined flesh. Her eyes were still closed as she leaned forward to kiss the line of his collarbone, to rest her own forehead against the join of his shoulder.

"I've missed you."

"I missed you too."

She sprawled on her bed in her underwear as he dressed. He had a month's worth of everything here, socks and t-shirts and worn jeans washed soft and frayed at the edges, jeans she wore cinched at her waist with a thick leather belt when she missed him too much for words. Suits in every color and starched white button-downs and gleaming low shoes. When he was here the house seemed full and warm and safe, and when he wasn't here, beside her in this bed, when she had to hug a pillow to her chest and listen for Mollie's breathing at her feet, she felt lonelier than she ever did in her apartment in the city.

Ned hopped onto the bed and the mattress bounced underneath her, and they stared up at the ceiling for a minute. "I guess I should get dressed," she sighed, pushing herself up on her elbows.

"You really don't have to," he said quietly, a smile in his voice, and she reached over to give him another kiss, her hair trailing over his shirt, before she disappeared into her closet.

\--

She kept a stack of wedding magazines in the corner of the kitchen. She had been adding to the stack every few weeks, but she kept seeing the same dresses over and over, the same checklists, the same budgeting suggestions. She kept a notebook full of quotes, for the cake, the caterers, the waiters, the reception hall rental, the thousand tiny expenses. She and Bess had debated color schemes and flower arrangements and table centerpieces and the pros and cons of a unity candle, but Bess was on the other end of the earth, and despite herself Nancy was waiting for a postcard telling her and George and Bess's resigned parents that she had tired of life as Johnny's girlfriend and was on her way home. Whenever Nancy imagined her wedding day, she saw Bess and George at her side, regardless of colors or bouquets or the number of tiers on her wedding cake.

While Ned relaxed on the sectional with Mollie and the remote, Nancy pulled the notebook out and looked over the figures again, the dogeared photographs of pouting models in trailing white dresses under soft lighting that never occurred outside a studio. No matter how many designs she saw, no matter how many different flower arrangements Bess gushed over, Nancy couldn't bring herself to make any decisions. A sit-down dinner for a hundred special guests or a buffet table full of finger foods was beyond her. 

She wanted their song and bare feet and silver rings and that was all she knew, as she looked down at the engagement ring on her finger. When Ned came into the kitchen, poking his head in the fridge to look for another beer, with Mollie's claws sounding on the linoleum floor, she shut the notebook, feeling guilty. He wanted to marry her, he wanted to be with her, but he had waited years for her and he would wait as long as she needed, for her to be ready. He asked sometimes, just to let her know he hadn't forgotten, that the engagement ring and a shared bed wasn't the limit of their relationship, and she was grateful for his understanding. She didn't question whether she would ever marry him, but the time wasn't right yet. She only knew that she would know, once it was.

He put the beer on the table and his palms on her shoulders, dropping a kiss on the crown of her head. "What are you doing," he said softly.

She brushed the magazines with the side of her hand and they fell closed, the covers all close-ups of grinning women in thin white veils, their hair and flowers perfect. "Nothing," she sighed, propping her chin on her fist. "Dreaming."

"We could watch a movie," he suggested, his fingers stroking over her shoulders. "Or have sex."

"Again?" She reached up and slid her arms around his neck, tilting her head back to see him upside-down over her. He kissed her, his nose brushing her chin.

"Again," he confirmed.

"So you aren't leaving."

"For as long as you want me," he reminded her, brushing his lips over hers again. After one last caress he moved away, picking up his beer again and heading for the living room. After a beat, she pushed back her chair and followed.

\--

In the attic of her father's house, one weekend, when she was looking for a coat Hannah swore she hadn't packed anywhere, Nancy had knocked over a small dusty box. When she leaned over to retrieve it, a few index cards, age-browned at the edges, had slipped out. Recipe cards in her mother's handwriting. She went through them all that afternoon, smiling at the comments, suggestions, ingredient substitutions. On the back of some were notes as to whether Carson, Nancy's father, had liked the meal or not.

He had laughed when she showed them to him, rubbing at his eyes for a second. "I remember," he said softly. "Apple honey pork chops. God. I haven't thought about that night..."

Now Nancy kept them, in plastic, and when she looked down at the recipe, her thumb in her mouth and her hair tied back in a messy ponytail, she could almost feel her mother in pearls and high heels, or barefoot in jeans with the glint of gold on her fingers, just over her shoulder, just around the corner, her voice as faint and light as the kiss Ned had given her that morning. She chopped the potatoes in halves and quarters before dropping them into the boiling water, her fingers wrinkled and water-logged, the stroke of the knife sure against the cutting board.

And then Ned's arms were around her waist and she could feel his breath against the back of her neck, and her hands slowed, then stilled, her eyes fluttering shut. Time stood still, like this, like the feel of his fingers laced between hers as they had watched some movie they had seen a hundred times, and he had pinned her beneath him and claimed her lips with his and Mollie barked, happily, laughter vibrating between them, her bare toes under the rolled cuffs of her jeans and her fist twisting the thin soft fabric of the t-shirt over his side. After dinner she would lead him to her bed and make love to him while the light faded, slow and gentle and lingering, but for now the wait was sweet.

His lips reached her ear. "What are you doing next weekend?"

She had been lost so long in the joy of having him beside her that she hadn't thought beyond waking up next to him the next morning, long enough to make sure she had pancake mix. "I don't know," she murmured, tilting her head to the side. Her skin tingled under the heat of his mouth. "Whatever you are, I guess."

He chuckled. "Let's get married."

She brushed her wet fingers over her apron as she turned around in his arms, looking up to find his eyes. "Are you serious?"

He nodded, once, twice, his eyes glowing. "If you want to."

She glanced over at the corner of the kitchen, at the stack of glossy magazines, the checklists, the demands. Then she remembered bare feet and their song and silver rings.

"Okay," she whispered.

\--

He praised dinner lavishly once she was done, helped her with the dishes, and they hurried through it all with trembling fingers and nervous laughter on their lips. When he carried her into the bedroom and elbowed the door closed behind him, there was no bottle of champagne with frosted glasses, no trail of rose petals, no sea of tiny flames from a spread of lit candles. There were his fingers trailing up her sides as he pulled her shirt over her head and the soft duvet against her calves as she kicked her jeans from her ankles. And it was right.

She couldn't stop kissing him. Her fingertips slid over his chest, her thumb flicked over his nipple and he groaned. She could feel the light brush of his hands, against her sides, stroking the curve of her hip, and when they joined, when he pressed between her thighs and she moaned into his skin, he took her shoulders into his hands and pushed her up, the heels of her hands tracing over his abs. She rocked against him, gasping when his hands found her breasts, when his hips shifted under hers. For a long moment his desperation echoed hers, the breathless concentration, and her moans became cries at the first hard spasm between them.

After, after she felt the warmth of his release flood between her thighs, she collapsed down onto the bed, beside him, and immediately he drew her into his arms. She rested her face against his chest and sighed, his fingers brushing her hair from her cheek.

"Baby, I love you."

She let her arm fall over his side, pulling him close to her, and smiled into his skin. "Love you too," she breathed. 

When the moon rose over the trees it found them sleeping, tangled into each other, and Mollie with her chin nestled against her paws, standing guard outside their door.

\--

"But we have to decide."

"Close your eyes," he said, and when she did she felt him kiss her eyelids, the tip of her nose, her chin. "Tell me what you want."

She ducked her head but his lips were warm on hers, his kiss long and sweet. "I want," she began, and pulled in a deep breath, "our song to play. I want to have bare feet and a white rose and the sun to be shining over us, and I want my dad and George to be there... and Bess if we can get her to come home for a weekend. And Hannah. Your friends, whoever you want. And I don't want our wedding night to be in some anonymous hotel where a million other people have slept before."

She felt him nod. "Okay."

She opened her eyes and searched his, and all she found there was calm assurance. They were sitting on the sectional, the syrup-sticky plates on the coffee table between their bare crossed ankles, and Mollie had to be distracted with the continual bounce of a tennis ball and its retrieval to keep her from cleaning the plates herself.

"It's that simple?"

He tilted his head. "Did all those magazines in your kitchen make it easier?"

She shook her head and brushed her palms over her face, her cheeks, unable to keep the smile from spreading. "Bess-- Bess is the one who's wanted this. Fingertip veils and blood-red roses and satin bridesmaid's dresses. Talking to her... I mean, we've been talking about this day since we were children. And you were easiest. We were pretty sure that I would end up with you."

"Pretty sure?" Ned started tickling her. "Only pretty sure?"

"Stop, stop," she protested, laughing, and when he finally pulled away, under the excited clamor of Mollie's barks, she looked at him again. "You know what I meant."

"Yeah," he said, and looked down at his hands. "Mom wanted all those things, too. I think she already had seating plans for the reception and a cross-checked guest list."

"But you don't?"

He traced his fingertips down her cheeks a few times. "If it's right," he said softly, "and I know it is, if this is not some empty ceremony in uncomfortable clothes, and we both know it isn't... I know I want to spend my life with you, and I want it as soon as possible, if that's okay with you."

"The box," she said softly, and he nodded.

"Everything important to me is right here with you."

She blushed faintly. "But we still have to decide everything."

"You already have." He brushed his lips over hers. "Leave the rest to me."

\--

"I think I know where we're going."

George glanced at Nancy from the driver's seat of her car. "Maybe," George said, the corners of her mouth curving up. "But I'm still keeping my mouth shut."

Nancy looked down at her lap. Edith's handkerchief was something old, her white dress something new. Hannah had let her borrow a beautiful silver and pearl barrette, and the garter was a blue ribbon trimmed in lace. After last weekend, between the calls of people congratulating her over the announcement of her impending nuptuals, she and Ned blended their belongings. Now she had his brown leather armchair in the living room, her queen-sized bed moved to the guest bedroom and his king in the master, boxes of trophies and other relics of Ned's childhood in her attic. They kept away from each other, saving themselves for the weekend, but on Thursday night as they lay in separate beds in the house that would soon no longer be merely hers but theirs, she had to stop herself over and over from going to him or calling for him, taking him into her arms again.

"Heard anything from Bess?"

George shook her head. "That usually means they're on their way to somewhere else and she hasn't gotten a new SIM card for her phone yet."

Nancy stared out the window for a moment before she smiled. "She would probably tell me to hold out for the big wedding," she said. "And then we'd spend a frantic month scrambling to have dresses made and the flowers just right."

"Do you want to wait until she comes back?"

Nancy waited a long time before she shook her head. "I want him to be mine now," she replied, her voice low but strong. "Today. Just be sure to get every second of it on tape for her, and lots of pictures."

George nodded. "And you said you couldn't understand why anyone would run away like that."

Nancy smiled. "Only with Ned," she murmured.

\--

Her father was already there when they arrived, at Fox Lake, as she had known they would. When she had called him earlier that week, she hadn't made his attendance an option, and he hugged her fiercely when she managed to climb out of the car and hand off her ensemble to George.

"You know I would have given you all of it," he told her when they pulled back to look at each other, and his eyes were soft.

Nancy nodded. "I know," she said, and smiled. "This is what I want. And I'm glad you're here."

In a small sunlit room full of half-sized chairs and low bright tables at the back of the stone chapel, George anchored the barrette in Nancy's hair and stepped back, offering Nancy the mirror. Her dress was a smooth, soft white, thin straps, loose and sweeping at her bare ankles.

"Do I look all right?"

"You look great," George said. "Let me get a picture."

She was beautiful, and in the garden at the back of the chapel, under the green bright canopy and the first touch of summer heat, and when she saw him dressed all in black and his feet bare in the grass, her eyes filled and she gasped in a breath that just became laughter. She distantly remembered the man standing just beyond Ned, in black robes with the heavy Bible in his hands, as a pleasant, gregarious man dressed in Hawaiian shirts at Nickerson family reunions. George handed Nancy a white rose as she stood, her weight balanced on one foot and the toes of the other, gazing at Ned.

He had everything right, everything perfect, and as she saw the flash of silver in George's palm, the thick circle of the ring she would put on Ned's finger, the first tear slipped down her cheek. Her father and Hannah were waiting at the end of the path, a few sets of Ned's aunts and uncles and his best friend, and the grass was cool under her bare toes. They heard no processional, and George's long walk was accompanied only by the distant flutter of birdsong.

She walked to Ned, blinking hard every few seconds to clear her wavering vision, reaching out for him, and when his fingers laced between hers, drawing her to his side, she smiled at him, her heart so full it could break.

"I've loved you since the first minute I saw you."

She could see nothing other than his eyes, feel nothing other than her heart pounding in her chest and the ring in her palm as she closed her fingers tight around it. She smiled at him, speechless.

"You're beautiful, and brilliant, and fearless, and so strong that there's no way you will ever need me, not the way I need you. But I can't stop loving you, Nan, and no matter what happens, no matter how our lives might change, I promise you right now that the way I feel about you never will."

"I do need you," she whispered, her thumb stroking the back of his hand. "I know sometimes it doesn't seem like it, but Ned... you've been there for me for so long that I can't imagine what my life would be like without you. I hate being away from you, and we've been through so much... and whatever else happens to you, to us, I want to be with you. Through everything, good or bad."

His smile was calm and easy, but she could feel his pulse, fast under her fingertips.

"Do you have the rings?"

Ned put the slender circle on her finger and took her hand, his voice faint under the weight of the vows he was making. "I take you," he said, softly. "I take you, Nancy, as my wife and my one, true, only love, for the rest of my life, no matter what happens, good or bad, sick or well, rich or poor. Whatever happens I'll be beside you, and I will be yours."

Nancy had to take a long deep breath before she could manage to speak, her cheeks wet with tears. Her fingers were shaking as she slipped the ring on his finger and took his hand in hers. "I take you, Ned, as my husband and my one true love, my only love, for the rest of my life, no matter what. Good or bad, sick or well, rich or poor, whatever happens I'll be yours and I will be there beside you."

Without waiting for the minister or anyone else Ned took her in his arms and pulled her up to him, until their faces were level, until she was gazing into his eyes through the pool of unshed tears in her own. "I love you so much," he said, his voice quick and low and rough. "God, Nancy."

She slipped her arms around his shoulders, and let one hand drift up to run through his hair. "I love you," she told him, her eyes shining, her chin high and proud. "You alone."

Nancy could hear George behind her, choking back a sob, and the minister cleared his throat. "By the power vested in me," he began, looking back and forth between the two of them, "I now pronounce you husband and wife. Ned..."

Without further prompting Ned closed the space between them, and she leaned forward, meeting him halfway. She tasted salt in their kiss, and when he pulled back she claimed another, laughing. He rested his forehead against hers and suddenly she was aware that the rest of their small group was standing, clapping, cheering. Nancy laughed again, tracing her finger over the curve of his cheek, before he released her.

\--

"Was it all right?"

"It was beautiful," she told him, watching the vulnerability in his gaze soften into pleasure. "It was perfect, Ned. It was everything I wanted."

"Almost," Ned told her, leaning in for another kiss. "We haven't gotten to our song yet."

When Ned pulled back Nancy saw Hannah turned around from the passenger's seat in the front of the car, a smile on her face. "It was beautiful, Ned," she told him. "I am so happy for the two of you."

"I just wish you had given me a little more warning," Carson said from the driver's seat. "As it is, I could only scrape together, oh, a few hundred people for the reception."

"Just a small, intimate family gathering, huh," Nancy said, poking Ned in the ribs. "Right."

She knew that her father would have given her all of it. Whatever she would have asked for, be it ice sculptures or a five-foot-tall chocolate fountain or a full orchestra, or all of the above, he would have given it to her, his only daughter. But when she looked down at her left hand and saw the band gleaming under the diamond, she was happy.

The restaurant was dim and homey, and when they were all in the back room, Nancy saw the three-tiered wedding cake she knew Hannah had spent hours making. She threw her arms around her surrogate mother and gave her a long hug.

"You can get married in bare feet all you want, but it just isn't right to not have a cake," Hannah laughed, hugging Nancy in return. "I hope you like it."

"It's perfect," Nancy told her, her eyes shining again. She traced her fingertips under her lower lashes and they came away wet. "Man, why can I not stop crying."

"Because you're happy."

Nancy laughed. "I am," she said. "So happy."

After dinner Ned went over to the jukebox in the corner, then came over to her and reached for her hand. She gave it to him and he pulled her up just as she heard the first few notes of their song play through the speakers.

"You just want to see how many times you can make me cry today," she accused him softly, slipping her arms around his neck.

He kept one arm around her waist as he brushed the tears from her cheeks, then leaned forward to kiss her. "I don't want you to cry," he whispered against her mouth. "I want you to be happy. And if you are going to cry, make this the last time."

She smiled up at him. "What are we doing after this?"

He gave her an elaborately casual shrug and she pulled him down to her for another kiss. "We're going to go somewhere and be alone," he breathed. "And I'm going to find out how it feels to make love to my wife."

She pressed a kiss behind his jaw. "You think it'll feel any different?"

"Have we ever," he kissed her again, "gone this long without having sex before? Except, of course, during that seven year stretch between our meeting and the first time."

She pulled back to search his eyes. "Even if we have, I don't think I've ever felt this impatient."

They swayed together to the song and she rested her head on his shoulder, their fingers laced together. "Have you always been this perfect?"

He laughed. "Not until I met you," he whispered into her ear. "And even then it took a little trial and error before I got it right. You... always have been."

She kissed him again. "I haven't," she said, softly. "But this, here, today, this is as close as I will ever be."

\--

"I know you said not to get you anything."

Nancy watched Ned disappear into his, their, cabin at the edge of the lake before she turned back to George. "We already have everything," Nancy shrugged. "Right now, we get to sort through two or three sets, and... to be honest, there's not much I need that I don't already have."

George nodded. "It's just a little something," she said. "Won't take up too much space."

"You know you didn't have to," Nancy said, and gave George a hug.

"I know," George said. She smiled when Nancy pulled back. "But you're one of my best friends, and I had to get you something."

"Don't forget to pick up Mollie."

George nodded. "And walk her every morning," she repeated, as Ned came out on the porch and stood watching them. "I think Ned's getting impatient. Call me when you come back to town."

"Of course."

The white rose was soft against the upper curve of her ear as she stood in the grass, her sandals in her hand and her feet bare, gazing up at her husband. He took the stairs slowly and approached her, and when he was close enough she reached for his hand and laced her fingers between his. The wind rippled over the water and carried the scent of pine needles and the soft musk of night to them, swirling the fireflies over the lake as it slipped from deep royal blue to black. The dew was cool on her ankles as she stood on tiptoe and brushed her lips against his.

"Nancy," Ned breathed, when she pulled back.

She smiled. "Take me inside," she told him.

He lifted her over the threshhold, pressing a kiss against her temple, and when she was on her feet again she took his hand and led him toward the flickering of candlelight in the master bedroom, the trail of rose petals. After all the champagne toasts Nancy looked at the aged bottle of wine George had left them, but didn't open it.

She could feel him behind her, the warmth radiating from his skin, before he took the barrette out of her hair. She tossed her head and felt the warm soft weight against her shoulders, and Ned took the thin strap of her dress and slipped it down her arm, kissed the point of her shoulder. She closed her eyes and felt the tension drain away, her wet chilled toes curling against the hardwood floor as he slipped the other strap down, leaving her shoulders bare.

"I love you," she whispered before she turned, once the gown had pooled at her feet, her lingerie gleaming white against her tanned flesh, and took his cheek in her palm. She slipped his shirt down his arms and let it fall at their feet, tracing a line of soft slow kisses over his throat. Her hands lingered at his waist before she unfastened his pants, and he closed his eyes, his eyelashes dark against his cheek. He kicked his pants off and lifted her into his arms and their mouths met, over and over, hard, gasping, her legs wrapped around his waist. She stopped, slow, their lips just touching, and traced the lines of his face with her fingertips.

"You're my husband now."

He nodded, smiling, and kissed her again, hard and slow. "Which means all those fantasies you've had, all those things you've only dreamed about doing..."

She slipped her thumb over his lips and he kissed it, his gaze searching hers. "There is one thing," she said, quietly. "You've never been my husband before tonight."

He shook his head. "I may have said the words today," he murmured, "but they have been true every moment of every year we've been together."

She loosed her grip on him and slipped to the floor, leaning over to pull the comforter down on the bed, and a shower of rose petals fell at their feet. His palm was warm on the small of her back, and she turned to him, her eyes gleaming in the candlelight.

"I know," she told him, and smiled. "I love you."

He kissed her neck and the base of her throat as he slipped his arms around her, and when he had unfastened the last hook on the lace bandeau and let it fall to her feet, she took a deep, long breath, the air deliciously cool on her breasts. He pushed the thin lace over her hips down to her thighs, and she pushed his boxers down, and then they stood before each other, their eyes hazed, her fingertips resting a hair's breadth above his skin. Every inch of her radiated warmth but the sensation of her cupped palm against his hip was pure dizzying electricity. He lifted her and pushed her backward onto the bed, crawling in behind her, to face her, her fingers still stroking his hip as she reclined onto the pillows. The sheets under her bare skin were silk-smooth, warmed by the touch of her flesh.

He kissed her, his lips trailing over her curves, his breath warm on the delicate tremble of her breasts. She tangled her fingers in his hair and let her hips fall loose and open under his, and when she grew impatient she squirmed beneath him, until their faces were level again, and kissed him, folding her legs up around his sides. He traced his palms down to her hips and pushed away from her, his erection thick and hard between them, and dipped his fingertips between her thighs. Her mouth fell open and she groaned, turning her face away from him, drawing her knees up to her chest to tilt the angle of her hips as his fingertips found the slick button between the folds of wet flesh.

"Nan," he whispered, his voice trembling.

"Yes, yes, now," she said, and her voice was desperate. Her fingers trailed down his hip and his eyes were closed, his breathing labored by the time she traced her thumb over the tip of his erection. His hips surged and she wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him closer. He linked his index finger and thumb around her wrist, pinned it over her head, then matched their hands and pressed the heel of his palm into hers, her fingers dwarfed under his. She pressed rapid kisses against the base of his throat, the hard muscle of his chest, her hips rocking under his.

He knew how it would feel. He knew the particular yield of the wet tight hollow between her thighs, he knew the soft change in the tempo of her breath that would mark the first clench of her orgasm, he knew the rhythm that would make her scream his name. But that night, that first time with the mated rings on their fingers, it was all new to him again, and every breath and touch and kiss was perfect, unmuted by the pain of his parents' sudden death. He learned her again, knew her again, and when her hips shifted under his, when her ankles locked at the small of his back and drew him close, deeper between the wet clench of her thighs, he felt like he would explode, his fingers lacing between hers. She cried out, muffled into his chest, punctuating his every thrust. She gasped and he felt her clench, quick and hard, against him, and he trembled as though he had never felt it before, his hips flush against hers with every desperate thrust, again and again.

When he came, against one last gentle shift between her thighs, she took his weight and they lay chest to chest, flesh to flesh, his chin against her hair. Her heart was beating wildly under his, and their fingers were loose but still joined over her head. His racing heart slowed by degrees, the rush in his ears and the echo of her cries receded, and he groaned when they parted. She gasped harshly, drawing her knees together, and reached over to trail her fingertips down his cheek.

"How did you," she began, softly, but shook her head.

"What," he breathed, brushing her hair back from sweat-dampened tendrils on her forehead.

Her eyelashes fluttered up and the expression in her eyes took his breath away. "It almost felt like the first time again," she whispered. "Like I was a virgin again."

He kissed her forehead, her cheek, brushed his lips over hers. "I don't know," he breathed. "I felt it too."

She looped her arm over his side and stroked the soft short hair at the back of his neck, her eyes steady on his, the light from the remaining candles flickering over her skin. "Was it good," she whispered, and gave him a small smile. "Now that I'm your wife."

He rolled her onto her back and she giggled as he attacked her, his mouth trailing down her neck, his breath tickling her flesh. "You are always," he kissed her, "always, always perfect."

She flushed softly and cupped his cheek under her palm. "This has been one of the best days of my life."

"One of the best?"

"Since the day I met you," she murmured, leaning up to kiss him again. "Since the day I knew you were the only man I would ever love."

\--

When she woke she could feel him still close, and after she stretched she turned and saw him gazing at her, his hands folded under his cheek.

"You came home last night."

The t-shirt she had fallen asleep in was in a tangle beside the bed, and when she was finally able to draw her gaze from his, she tilted her head back. Pale perfect yellow light through the window behind their heads, flooding into their bedroom. Their first Saturday morning together at home.

He nodded. "I came home last night," he said. He traced his fingers down her cheek and she smiled, watching the sheet pool at her husband's waist, the saddle of flesh below his abs. "And I have the weekend entirely and utterly free. So we can do whatever you want."

Her lips curved up. "I don't know if I'll even be able to move, after last night," she teased him, laughing when he rolled on top of her and tickled her. Once she was breathless he kissed her forehead, and they lay in each other's arms for a long moment. Nancy closed her eyes.

_He'll never leave again._

"I'm gonna get a shower," he said, and traced his lips down her temple, her cheek, before he pushed himself off her. "You coming?"

She smiled. "Always."


End file.
